Unique
by Talametra
Summary: Catherine Bennet is the only one of her sisters who looks completely unique. Now she has a chance to prove that she stands alone in talents as well.


Disclaimer: not mine, of course. If you like it, please review. If not, you needn't.

Everyone knew that Jane was the spitting image of my mother as a young woman. Mother often said as much, waving a proud hand at the gray hair that no one believed had ever been blonde. Equally important was the fact that Elizabeth was a copy of Father; she shared his firm mouth, arched brows, and quick wit. Even in Mary and Lydia, to some extent, I could see familiar features: the bulging Bennet eyes in Lydia's narrow face, Mother's snub nose set in Mary's.

I alone was unique.

When I was a little girl, I had once asked my father why I looked like I did. "Father," I had inquired of him, twirling a black curl in one chubby hand, "why do I not look like anyone?"

"What do you mean, Kitty?" he had asked me.

"Well, Jane and Mary look like Mother and Lizzy looks like you, but I only look like me."

Father had chuckled, and in a rare gesture, had pulled me onto his knee. "What about Lydia, little one? Is she not important enough to be a Bennet in looks as well as name?"

I had shaken my head. "Lydia is three, Father. She's too little to look like anyone yet, Mama says."

Father had been silent for some minutes, one large, bony-knuckled hand absently stroking my hair. "You look like my mother, Kitty," he had finally replied. "Her name was Catherine, like yours, and you are very much like her. I believe you even have her eyes."

"I do?"

"You do. They were the same lovely color…like honey, perhaps, only a bit darker."

"Ohhh!" I had blinked my eyes a few times, enchanted by the fact that anything on my face could be the color of something so delicious. "Was Grandmother beautiful, Father?"

"She was, and you will be beautiful when you are older. Someday, a man will look into your eyes and see the woman he wants to marry."

Father's words were meant kindly, but I was greatly disappointed when even Lydia was married before I was. It had been thirteen years since that day, and at eighteen, I had as of yet seen no man look into my eyes and find the woman he wanted to marry.

The last of my three married sisters had left home over a month ago, leaving me with only Mary and my parents for company. Now that Lizzy, his acknowledged favorite, was gone, Father spent more time than ever in his study. Consequently, Mother was left without her usual target and had turned to haranguing me. She left Mary alone; it was quite likely that she realized, early on, that Mary would not change no matter what you said to her.

"Oh, Kitty!" she cried exasperatedly one day as she passed by me with several wet garments over one arm. For lack of anything better to do, I was listening to Mary play the pianoforte. "Can you not help me instead of lying about? My own daughter has no concern for my—"

"Yes, I know, Mama…your nerves," I finished, and took the wet clothing for her. "I will hang them on the line if you want me to."

"Mundane tasks," Mary observed, pausing in her discordant melody, "are disinteresting to the true intellectual. One enamored of learning will not stoop to such."

Since I was Lydia's companion until she was married, nearly everyone had assumed that I was as foolish as she. Nevertheless, even I knew that Mary used far too much pomp in her everyday conversation. No one understood the half of what she said, her own family included. "Please, Mary, not now," I told her, and went to hang the wash on the clothesline.

It was a lovely day, just as it had been on the wedding days of Elizabeth and Jane. (With a jealous sister's spite, I had hoped that it would rain on Lydia's wedding day, and it had. It hadn't seemed to restrain her incessant talk, however.) The warm spring air was filled with the smell of flowers and earth, and there were only a few soft white clouds floating in the blue sky. After hanging the wash up, I sat down on the grass—never mind what my mother would say, it wasn't as though this was my best dress—and stared up into the sky, enjoying the breeze.

"CATHERINE BENNET! Do get up! You'll ruin your dress if you continue to lie about in such a manner!" my mother barked from the doorway. Oh, Lord—she was everywhere.

"Yes, Mama," I sighed, and walked back into the stifling, trifling atmosphere of the house. Oh, well…there would be other days.


End file.
